Yao Hui left Wuxing Commandery at the age of fifteen. Her paternal uncle had been promoted to the position of prefect of Jingzhao and brought her and her sisters to Jinling to be raised and educated. Before that, she had always lived in the spacious gardens of her homeland. On days of drifting rain, she would climb alone to the embroidered tower; when she pushed open the window and looked out, all she saw was the vast mist-laden expanse of Taihu Lake.
A new official taking office must establish a firm foothold in the capital, and marriage alliances were a vital path to achieving this. Her uncle had no sons, so the husbands he chose for her elder sisters were all young talents from the great clans of the metropolitan region. Although the Yao clan of Wuxing held a lower social standing compared to the Xiao, Cui, and Wang families, they possessed the backing of the hundred gentry clans of the Three Wu region and a thousand miles of fertile Jiangnan soil; the days of mutual reliance would be long indeed.
Yao Hui possessed a tactful and generous temperament. Within the mansion, she began assisting her aunt with household management early on; outside the inner chambers, she was always the center of conversation and laughter among her peers. Matchmakers nearly wore out the threshold of her home, yet her elders cherished her as the youngest daughter and were unwilling to marry her off lightly.
It was not until the Mid-Autumn Festival of her eighteenth year, at a literary gathering on Mochou Lake, that she dressed herself in men’s clothing and secretly followed her sisters and brothers-in-law for amusement. She unexpectedly won first place by imitating the gathered scholars in composing poems and matching linked verses. Among the guests was Xie Yan, the eldest son of the Censorate-in-Chief who had recently entered officialdom. Afterward, he went through great trouble to inquire about her background and finally managed to send a message through her eldest brother-in-law, “May Young Master Yao come again to Mochou Lake on the fifteenth day of the ninth month for another gathering. This humble one would be honored to acknowledge such remarkable talent.”
Her sisters crowded around the words “Young Master Yao” and nearly laughed themselves senseless. Once their laughter finally died down, they found themselves in a quandary: should she go or not? If she refused, how could they slight the Xie clan of Chen Commandery, a great house renowned through many generations? But if she did go, was a daughter of the house expected to dress as a young gentleman for the rest of her life?
Yao Hui had ideas of her own. At the banquet that day, she had taken first place while this Young Master Xie came second; she had taken note of his verses and found them rich with charm.
Thus, she announced that she would go, and she would go rightfully in her true form as well.
The following day, on the fifteenth day of the ninth month, within Yujin Hall at Mochou Lake, Xie Yan had bathed and burned incense with lavish gifts prepared in readiness. His posture was almost as if he were about to become sworn brothers with someone, just short of kowtowing and calling them “Gentleman.” Yao Hui, who was pretending to be a sightseer, leaned against the door to observe him. She watched this dull-witted scholar rise one moment and sit the next, gaze out in eager expectation one instant and smooth his robes the next. He had none of the bearing of a court official; rather, he looked like an ant on a hot griddle.
As she watched, Yao Hui suddenly let out a stifled laugh.
Startled by the sound, Xie Yan looked up. He stared directly at her for a moment before realizing his rudeness and hurriedly averted his gaze. But as thoughts raced through his mind, the face before him gradually overlapped with that of the “Young Master Yao” from a month earlier. His jaw dropped, and he was left utterly speechless.
In this era, the lingering customs of the Six Dynasties still prevailed; the boundaries between men and women in society were not strictly enforced, and in broad daylight there were few prohibitions to observe or avoid. Yao Hui stepped gracefully into the hall. Unwilling to leave behind any personal belongings that might give rise to gossip, she simply picked up a brush and wrote three lines of an unfinished poem on the blank space of the calling card Xie Yan had prepared. Without leaving her name or announcing her family, she said composedly:
“If you cannot compose the final couplet, do not come to disturb me.”
Yao Hui thought she would have to wait another month, but to her surprise, only three days passed before her eldest brother-in-law once again brought home Xie Yan’s visiting card and the completed poem—this time, he wished to visit the Yao’s Mansion in person.
This exchange of poetry from afar continued until the end of the year. Xie Yan progressed from being unable to even see Yao Hui’s face, subjected instead to the interrogations of her paternal uncle, to gradually being invited to stay for a simple meal, then to being able to look at Yao Hui from across a partitioned seating area under the supervision of her sisters and brothers-in-law, and finally to meeting her by chance in the street and exchanging a few hurried words.
He had long since informed his parents. Xie Yi weighed the matter: the Yao family was of the second tier of wealth and nobility; they were not so ostentatious as to attract unwanted attention, yet the match offered mutual benefits. Thus, he gave his tacit consent to the union. In truth, Xie Yan was young and promising, and the Xiao, Cui, and Wang families had all extended olive branches to him. Xie Yi simply did not dare to accept them. In his heart, he was secretly grateful that the current emperor had no sisters and only a single infant princess; there was no risk of the title of prince consort falling upon Xie’s Mansion, nor any danger of an alliance with the Imperial family.
And so, through these frequent exchanges, Yao Hui’s uncle and aunt; acting in the stead of her parents, finalized her marriage with Xie Yan. The auspicious date was set for the spring of the twelfth year of Jianning.
In the season when a hundred flowers competed in beauty beneath the eaves, Yao Hui, who was dressed in bright red wedding attire and surrounded by handmaidens, stepped into Wuyi Lane. Inside the bridal chamber belonging to her and Xie Yan stood a full screen inlaid with precious stones; when she skirted behind it, she was a lithe shadow of vermilion, like a lonely peach blossom cast into the bottom of a vase. When she emerged again, she was already blooming with a rosy glow on both cheeks, leading a mischievous toddler by the hand; “the perfect image of a harmonious household.”
In the seventh year of Zhenyou, when the second son of the Xie family went to the capital for the imperial examinations, someone else took over the discipline of Xie Jun, and Yao Hui finally breathed a sigh of relief.
In the eyes of her and Xie Yan, Xie Jing was entirely an overgrown child with a pampered temper and an awkward disposition. When listening to people speak, his round “lychee-like eyes” would sparkle. Yao Hui would sometimes pinch his cheeks; even without much force, it would leave marks, like plum blossom petals falling onto a field of white snow.
Yet it was this innocent, sheltered young lad who suddenly received “heavenly grace,” destined to be married into the imperial family, where “it is lonely and cold at the heights.”
She and Xie Yan were struck by trepidation.
Though both had been raised in prestigious households, their experience was ultimately limited; at most, they were accustomed to schemes and calculations, but nothing that reached the level of mortal peril.
But who did not know that once one entered a noble’s gate, it was as deep as the sea? Moreover, what kind of man was Prince Zhao? The eldest yet born of a secondary consort was young, and notoriously indulgent. If he proved unworthy, it would ruin their youngest brother, and the entire family would suffer in silence; but if he proved too capable, he would drag Xie Jing into the very eye of the storm—and that would be an even more inescapable nightmare.
Yao Hui knelt in the second row, with Xie Yi in front of her repeatedly offering humble thanks for the imperial favor. Further ahead, Zhong Zhao, who had come to deliver the imperial edict, let the whisk in his hand hang down, its faint rustling shadow falling over her like a dim veil.
She turned to the left and saw the worry lingering between Xie Yan’s brows; she turned to the right and saw Xie Jun idly toying with the tassels of his robe, entirely absorbed in his own amusement.
She turned back and met Xie Jing’s eyes; a faint bitterness rose in her throat, tinged with a slight ache. What tea had she just drunk that it seemed to leave her tasting the bitterness of an entire lifetime all at once?
On the eve of the ceremony, as the eldest sister-in-law, Yao Hui had some private words to share with Xie Jing.
Xie Jing listened with a mixture of confusion and blushing embarrassment while burying his head in a nearby soft cushion. Yao Hui smiled—she still had to smile; she could not do otherwise. She could see that Xie Jing was both hesitant and quietly expectant; she could also see that Prince Zhao had poured his heart into preparing those dazzling betrothal gifts; and she could see the subtle threads of youthful affection quietly winding their way up along the garden’s flower trellises. And she didn’t need to say a thing; she had gone through the same journey herself.
And so, she watched that peacock fly away. Wait—Yao Hui was separated by several layers of guests and could not see clearly, or perhaps things had been so hectic lately that her memory had slipped. Was the pattern embroidered in gold thread on Xie Jing’s robe a peacock, or a phoenix?
Xie Jun tugged at her hand and asked in a milky voice, “Mother, now that Little Uncle has gone, when will he come back?”
“Tomorrow,” Yao Hui said, having skimmed through Xie Jing’s letter from home. She smiled toward her parents-in-law in the hall. “Zhiwu says that His Majesty is not feeling well this year, so there will be no Mid-Autumn family banquet in the palace. He will be free from tomorrow evening onward and can bring Qing’er, Ning’ning, and the Eldest Princess to Wuyi Lane to watch the moon.”
Madam Xie instructed the steward, “Prepare the wine and dishes properly, and be absolutely careful not to show any neglect toward His Highness and the Princess. Yesterday, when they came up to deliver the rent, they also sent along some crabs; select the plumpest ones and have them set aside for serving.”
Yao Hui called out to Xie Jun, who was trying to slip away as if his feet were greased with oil, “Wait right there!”
Xie Jun’s face fell. “Mother, I’ve made an appointment with Li Kuang. If I’m late, I’ll have to drink a penalty toast; you wouldn’t want me drinking even more, would you?”
Yao Hui threw a half-peeled walnut at him. “You’re becoming more and more unruly by the day! Tomorrow, invite the Li family’s daughter and her younger brother to the mansion. First, it will liven things up for everyone to be together, and second, it will let your little uncle and the others take a look at them.”
Xie Jun muttered under his breath, “Nothing is even certain yet.”
Xie Yi suddenly spoke up, “This is a serious matter. If you truly have feelings for one another, get things settled early between this winter and next spring. Looking at the current situation, there’s no telling when His Majesty might… Three years of national mourning is a long time; enough for many things to shift. It would only be wasting both your and Lady Li’s best years. Jun’er, do you understand?”
Only then did Xie Jun turn serious. He obediently complied, took his leave of the elders in the room, and ran off.
As it turned out, the next day; both unexpectedly and yet, in hindsight, not entirely surprising, Prince Zhao and Xie Jing were detained by affairs in the palace. Instead, it was the Elfest Princess who arrived first, bringing along her young nephew and niece.
Over the years, due to the marriage alliance, the Eldest Princess had become a frequent visitor to Wuyi Lane, yet the distinction between sovereign and subject remained, so etiquette could not be neglected. It was for this very reason that the teenagers and little ones loved having the Eldest Princess around; she was close to them in age but a generation senior, meaning she had the authority to lead them in all sorts of new and exciting games.
For instance, at this very moment, Xie Jun was coaxing the Eldest Princess, lowering his voice as he said, “Your Highness, go and speak to my mother for me; let us go out together, stroll along the Qinhuai River to see the lantern festival and the iron-flower fireworks, and we will surely be back before evening meal!”
Li Ye stopped him with a smile. “The moment Her Highness arrives, you start making things difficult for her.”
The Eldest Princess, however, waved her hand dismissively. With a twinkle in her bright eyes, she took Lu Shuning by the hand. “Ningning, come with Aunt.”
The two of them leaned in close to Yao Hui’s side.
Upon seeing Lu Shuning, Yao Hui naturally beamed with joy. She pulled the girl into her arms and shook her small hand, making the bells on her silver wristlet chime. “Give Auntie a kiss.”
Lu Shuning gave her several kisses but accidentally let the secret slip first: “Aunt said she’s taking Cousin and us to see the iron flowers!”
The Eldest Princess let out an “Aiya!” and laughed crisply. She leaned in and whispered into Yao Hui’s ear, “Saosao is the best and loves us the most. It’s only for half a day; we’ll be back safe and sound before dinner!”
Yao Hui looked at her beautiful, radiant face. When she smiled, it felt as though spring had blossomed over all creation. Yao Hui could never return to those years again; the younger generation had already grown up, faint lines had begun to gather at the corners of her eyes, and half a lifetime had slipped away just like that.
But her heart had not yet grown old. The young girl before her still had a long and brilliant future ahead of her, while she herself also had a calm and contented path to look forward to, such as watching her children and grandchildren gradually fill these halls with life.
“Go then. Your Highness, please take care of yourself. Just trouble yourself to remind Jun’er and the others not to overindulge in wine and keep a close eye on Qing’er and Ningning so they don’t get lost; that will be enough.”
The Eldest Princess gave a joyful cry of agreement and pulled Lu Shuning along; like a pair of young swallows, they fluttered away, leaving behind a trail of laughter that tinkled like pearls on glass.
In the evening, the Li siblings took their leave to return home for their own family reunion, while the others departed contentedly. It was not until the moon had risen high that Prince Zhao and Xie Jing, whose robes damp with night dew, hurried back to Wuyi Lane.
Yao Hui found it inappropriate to ask too much about palace affairs in front of the whole family, fearing it might distress the elders. However, she noticed that Xie Jing seemed somewhat dispirited; she couldn’t tell if he was simply tired or if he had been slighted by his parents-in-law, the most noble couple in the world.
Beneath the table, hidden from view, Prince Zhao took Xie Jing’s hand and began tracing words into his palm; presumably words meant to soothe and reassure him. Xie Jing looked down for only a moment before casting him an admonishing glance; he leaned in as if to whisper a private word, but instead pressed a kiss behind Prince Zhao’s ear.
Lu Shuqing pestered his mother into sharing a bowl of sweet osmanthus curds; after a few spoonfuls, Xie Jing’s smile brightened, revealing two neat rows of white teeth as if the dessert itself had left a trace of sweetness on him.
Yao Hui found herself smiling again. Ever since he was a child, Xie Jing’s sweet smile had always been infectious, making her feel happy and cherished by every member of this family. She had left her hometown and parents to come to this Jinling City teeming with high officials, thinking she would be like drifting duckweed; she never expected to gain another set of parents, a husband, siblings, and nephews.
Her surname was not Xie, but Wuyi Lane was her home.
The moonlight spilled along the brickwork and drifted into the room. Yao Hui lay down without changing out of her clothes, her ivory-white sleeping robes as if soaked through and washed pale by the silvered glow of the moon.
And so, she drifted into a light sleep—
As she slept, it was as if she had returned to the days of boating on Taihu Lake, amidst an endless expanse of misty rain. Her close friends and sisters were there, chattering around a stove as they brewed tea and played drinking games. From within that warm, intoxicating fragrance, thread by thread, wisp by wisp, the lintel of Wuyi Lane gradually took shape above like a mirage. Jinling—that was Jinling. Ginkgo, pomegranate, and persimmon; every household was a home of nobility, with such lintels and such swallows before the halls. Amidst the pavilions and terraces, like a lady from an illustrated album peering shyly from behind a half-open door, it had to be her; smiling with lowered brows, her face soft with grace and suffused with prosperity. And what, exactly, was she looking at? In the courtyard, a child teased a stout dog, dressed in bright, colorful robes to amuse his elders, drawing laughter from those seated in the high hall. Was that her past, or was it her future? As the wind rose, the smoke scattered, the mist dissolved, nothing was left behind them, she found herself once again back on Taihu Lake.
Yao Hui startled awake.
Upon waking, the wind was sought, and the rain was pattering.
Xie Yan was getting out of bed. Propping herself up from the pillow, she asked, “What is it?”
“It’s nothing,” Xie Yan said as he turned back, his tone gentle. “Zhong Zhao has come. He says there is something in the palace and summoned Father and me. Perhaps His Majesty is not feeling well and has words to pass on. Don’t worry; it’s nothing major.”
Yao Hui let out a small sigh of relief. Outside, the winter chill cut to the bone; though several charcoal braziers burned in the room, her hands and feet still felt as though they could never quite warm up. She rubbed her shoulders and blew on her hands. It was truly strange, why was the seventeenth year of Zhenyou so cold?
Xie Yan finished dressing quickly and was about to step away, but Yao Hui’s heartbeat with an unsteady rhythm. She reached out and caught Xie Yan by the wrist:
“You must come back.”
Xie Yan smiled at her, “I will.”
The author has something to say:
I’ve always liked this line, and I knew from the moment I decided three years ago that one of the protagonists would bear the surname Xie that I wanted to use it as the title of a side story. It came together all at once, and I like it very much.
